


Queen Myrcella

by Machiavelli (Avery_Fontaine)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar won, Dark Jon Snow, F/M, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Jon Snow, King's Landing, Little Myrcella, Lyanna Stark Lives, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Myrcella - Freeform, Period-Typical Underage, Queen Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar Lives, child bride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-02-03 05:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Fontaine/pseuds/Machiavelli
Summary: Jon Targaryen was never supposed to be King, yet the Fates have decided that he is.After returning from his stay at Winterfell with his Mother, the estranged wife of the King Rhaegar, and the Stark family, Jon traveled South after hearing of his bethrothal to Myrcella Lannister. But before he entered the city, the Sept of Baelor went up in green flames.Now King, Jon must navigate the viper's nest of King's Landing. It will not be easy, especially when a young and beautiful Lannister becomes his Queen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScholaroftheArchive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScholaroftheArchive/gifts), [serpentguy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentguy/gifts).



_To my friend Amadeus,_

 

Aegon the Third came to power after the Dance of the Dragons. When he was born, he was fourth in line for the throne. His elder brothers died by the hands of his uncle's men, and his Father fell from his dragon in the Battle Above the Gods Eye. His mother died by dragon fire. Cregan Stark marched on King's Landing and forced the boy to make him his Hand, and after the Hour of the Wolf, left him at King's Landing.

Viserys the Second came to power after Baelor the Blessed. Neither the young Daeron the Dragon nor the Blessed King had children, and so the old man got his crown after decades of loyal service to Aegon's the Third's heirs. He was born fifth in line for the throne.

Maekar the First got his crown after the Spring Sickness. Daeron the Good and his elder brother died in the Sickness, and the first crown Prince, Baelor, died by Maekar's hands. It was a mistake made during a Trial of Seven. He was fourth in line for the throne. 

Aegon the Fifth became King after Maekar. The youngest son of the youngest son of Daeron the Good, he was farthest in line from the Throne. His brothers had sons, yet they all but one died before Maekar. When he was born, Aegon was twelfth in line for the throne. 

The crown knows no loyalty to any living man. It always will find one to bear its weight. That we can be sure of.

When Aegon the Conqueror started his line, did he ever consider what horrors his heirs would face, with the sword of Kingslayer's ever hovering above the Iron Throne? Did he know the curse he would place upon them? Perhaps he simply believed the dragons would protect them.

Behold, our new Unlikely King, Jon of House Targaryen. I have studied him, more closely now that he wears the crown. I last remembered him as a happy boy of twelve, playing with his brother and making fun of his sister. Queen Lyanna, now Dowager Queen, was there at the time. She encouraged him and his siblings in every bit of mischief a troublesome mother would. He was of a rather round face and the darkest grey eyes, and his hair as wild and black as our good queen's. Now, though, he is a man. He reached the age of ten-and-eight not a moon ago, as his figure is that of any brutish Northman one would otherwise slander. His face is now longer, and his happy cheeks replaced by a sullen frown. Since taking the throne a fortnight's past, he has not smiled or smirked. One could hardly blame him.

The tragedy at the Sept of Baelor will never leave the King's mind, nor the realm's. Our Great King, Rhaegar the First, who ruled more wisely than any I have ever known for two decades, has left our world. Gone with him are his heir, the crown Prince Aegon, and daughter, the spirited Princess Rhaenys, and brother, the jovial and generous Viserys, and mother, the dutiful Rhaella. The cries at the funerals were stronger than any I've ever heard. Now, it seems that the House Targaryen is gone from the world, save the King and his aunt, Daenerys. 

I can anticipate your question. No, they shall not marry. I can see with my own eyes that they hold nothing but familial love between them - let us not consider what familial love means for Targaryens - and not only did Rhaegar end the practice of intermarriage, but the bethrothal has already been decided. Whether I am impressed with the Lannisters or furious at the cruelest family in the realm getting their way, I cannot say. The Martells got Aegon with a bethrothal to Princess Arianne, and the Tyrells got Rhaenys with another to Lord Willas. The Lannisters got Jon, the black-haired prince, the one who fostered in the North for near a decade, with Tywin's grand-daughter, Myrcella. At the time, it seemed like a way of keeping the Lion at arm's length from the Iron Throne. Now, they are in the King's chambers.

As for the King's preparedness, I find him intelligent and capable, despite my disagreement with some of his decisions. He is no fool in war. He fought in battles in the North and beyond the Wall, in Skagos and on the Sea, during the Slaver Campaigns. He is educated. Old Luwin has done his work well. I once thought Eddard Stark was the most Northern-looking man I had ever seen. But our King has certainly taken the North here with him; it would not surprise me if he followed their gods. 

As for the direction of the realm, I cannot say. I pray that this new king will be nothing like his grandfather, nor many of his less noble predecessors. You well know that my concern is not unfounded, as anyone who has studied the line of Kings would think the same. In order to ensure the King is of sound mind, I will keep watch and advise him carefully, and ensure that I do not find myself removed from the Council. His first orders were concerning: he demanded justice for his fallen kin. While it is natural for any man in his position, his decisions afterward raised eyebrows. He decreed that half of the ships of the Royal Fleet and the Manderlys be sent off to find the Ironborn commander responsible, and he has also mentioned making a new Master of Whisperers, one decided without input from the Council. Many assumed the Lannisters would find themselves taking over the court in King's Landing - I said so during our first Council meeting, to set myself apart as an honest advisor. To combat this thought, our young King has taken to showing his control of realm, and preventing any ambitious men from taken advantage of him. His choices for new Council members only concerned us further, for they were made without our input. He made his cousin, Robb Stark, a man hardly older than him, Hand of the King.

I worry, my friend. I do. When boys become kings, one cannot predict how they will act. Will they play Aegon the Conqueror, and lead to the death of millions like Daeron, or try to be Jaeherys the Conciliator, and like Aegon the Third, pave the way for the death of dragons, letting so-called "wiser" men rule over them?

If any hint can be taken from this pattern, of Kings following their predecessors, know this: he chose Maekar's crown as his own.

 

_I wish you well,_

_  
_

_Grandmaester Ebrose_


	2. Chapter 2

_King. That is what I hear over and over. "The new King is nothing like his father." "Your Grace, what shall we do?" "Your Grace, I know what to do." "My King, perhaps it is time to end the council meeting." "The King is no Targaryen; he's a bloody Northern savage." The last I dealt with quickly._

The weight of the crown was greater than he thought. Maekar's crown, the jagged-spiked band of gold, was heavier than he thought it would be. When he chose it, it was meant to parallel the Winter Crown. Truly, Jon felt more Stark than Targaryen. He was raised more Stark than Targaryen. 

The King looked out upon the city from the Council chamber, hearing the debate of his Small Council. It was midday, and the rubble from the Sept of Baelor was nearly cleaned up. 

"My King, I don't believe this is the wisest decision," Grandmaester Ebrose said. He was a tired and exasperating man, but nevertheless, his was a wiser perspective than others.

Jon turned back to his council. He looked from Ebrose to Dondarrion, the other survivor from the last king's council. All the others died in green fire, except for Ser Barristan, who came with him from Winterfell. The new Lord Commander sat at his seat, waiting for Jon's word on the matter. He was as cold as Jon, after knowing his brothers, Gerold and Arthur, died with the last King. Monford Velaryon, his new Master of Ships, sat among them

"I've made my decision," Jon said, "I have already sent for her."

"But Your Grace," Velaryon started, "A woman on the Small Council, especially one with no experience-"

"She has experience, my Lord," Jon said, "And my decision is final. Move on."

Each of the Council members remained silent and contrite until Dondarion spoke.

"There's still the position of Master of Coin. Our candidates are Mace Tyrell and Tywin Lannister. If I may vote first, I believe, the future Queen, her wife's House should be represented," Dondarrion said. "Mayhaps a Lannister can help us with the crown's debt."

_Debt. Another word I rarely considered before. My Father left the realm with a surplus and the coffers full. Now with the reconstruction of half of King's Landing and the war against the bloody Ironborn, we are back in debt._

"I want to avoid Lannisters having any more sway than they already do," Jon said, "And the same goes for the Tyrells."

The Council members looked between themselves and remained unspoken. It was obvious that they were uncertain what he might say, whether he would suggest  _another_ unorthodox choice of Master of Coin.

"I would considerit, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said, looking solemn. 

The man was not prepared to be made Lord Commander, and from Jon's perspective, not prepared to call his former squire the King.

_Neither was I, my friend._

There was a knock on the door of the Council Chamber. It opened and Jaime Lannister stood at the end of the hall. He was different from when last Jon had seen him. His hair was shorter and his eyes icier.The young knight had been one for playing tricks on the Northern prince. 

"Your Grace, Princess Daenerys," Jaime said, before walking out of the room, allowing Dany to walk in. 

Of all his family members he thought he would see again, Daenerys was the only he thought he wouldn't. She had traveled Essos, been to Braavos, Slaver's Bay, Qarth and the Dothrakhi Sea. Daenerys had always been distant and prone to dreaming, while Jon preferred to stay with Aegon and Rhaenys. Now, though, she was the only Targaryen left, excluding the King.

"What have we been discussing?" Daenerys asked as she approached. She was wearing a long, purple dress that dragged across the marble floor. 

"Now, we are discussing your findings," the King said, "What have you learned?"

Daenerys sat by Ser Barristan, expressionless and stoic. "I have adopted Varys's little birds as my own," Daenerys said, "They speak of a war in the Stepstones, and of Euron Greyjoy."

There was a reason Jon made her his Mistress of Whisperers. With her familial connection, and from what she learned at Asshai, Daenerys was indeed the most powerful ally he had. 

"Euron commands the Iron Fleet?" Ebrose asked, "The man's mad."

"Mad enough to blow up a Sept," Daenerys said coldly.

Jon's face contorted in disgust. "Is he in the Stepstones?" Jon asked his aunt.

"They are unconfirmed reports," Daenerys answered.

"Lord Velaryon, send a raven. Your ships will go to the Stepstones," the King ordered.

"Your Grace," Monford said, standing up"They are still at the Summer Isles. Perhaps-"

"Send them." the King demanded.

Velaryon looked as if he wanted to debate the matter, but Jon gave nothing in his eyes. Monford relented.

"I shall right away... Your Grace," Monford sat back down and looked away.

The rest of the Council looked around at each other, except for Daenerys, who put her hand against her chin and waited for Jon's next order.

"Dondarion," Jon said, "I am making you Acting-Hand until the arrival of my cousin."

Beric Dondarion nodded, as did the other council members.

"Ebrose," Jon looked at the old maester, "what word have you of Robb's position? How long till he arrives?"

"It has been a week since he accepted the position of Hand," Ebrose said, "by now he should be nearing Moat Cailin. I expect two moons before his arrival."

"Good," the King affirmed, "That is all for today. We will convene in the morrow."

Jon turned away, and looked back at the city.

_I fucking hate being King. I hate all of this._

His mind was less than focused. He was still waiting on a letter from his mother. Then he heard a cough, and he turned around. Beric, Monford, Ebrose, Barristan and Daenerys all looked up at him, like he was forgetting something. 

"Something to say, my lords?" Jon asked,

"Well," Daenerys started, "We must discuss your marriage to Myrcella Lannister."

_The Lannister girl._

When Jon first traveled to King's Landing, it was to discuss the marriage.

"What's there to be discussed?" Jon asked.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Daenerys almost chuckled, "But Lady Myrcella comes from the richest family in the realm, she is to marry you in the fortnight, and I believe she is arriving today. Your wedding to her will not only be important to the security of the realm, but the security of our House."

Dondarion and Ebrose nodded. Daenerys was proving her intelligence to them all.

_Now you don't scorn a woman among you. Typical._

"Fine," Jon said, "Put her mother in charge of the wedding. I shall attend."

Jon turned back around. The council slowly figured out that he wanted them gone, and they all left, except for Daenerys. 

She continued to sit down and look up at her nephew. "You clearly don't want to get married," she said. 

"Of course I don't," Jon said, "She's a child, and a Lannister."

"Lannisters are your subjects," Daenerys said, getting up from her seat. She walked over to her nephew and put her hand on his shoulder. "And you must find calm. You are enraged, I know. I am too. But you're duty is to the realm now. Be calm. Take your wife and remind the Kingdoms that their King will bring stability."

Jon remained silent ad his head head. She sounded so right. 

"I shall, then" Jon said, lifting his head. He turned and looked into her piercing violet eyes. "And you, how are you dealing with your new position?"

"Fairly," Daenerys said, "One can only do so much as a gatherer of information. Regarding my sources, it's difficult to know what the truth is. Unless you force it from them." 

Jon let that go and asked no more questions. His aunt had arrived at the Sept just before him, and saw the flames before she entered. She more than anyone understood him. And she loved Rhaella mayhaps even more than Jon did.

Daenerys left the chambers and Jon stared out on the city again. It was different, but so much the same. His father at last installed a sewage system and rid the city of its smell, but roads were still unpaved and orphans terrorized shopkeeps. Much needed to be done, but how was the question.

Jon left to walk to the throne room. He needed to attend the reception of several lords, who were meant to swear fealty to him. Jaime Lannister walked with him, and he continued looking at Jon.

"What is it, Ser Jaime?" Jon asked.

"Beggin your pardon, Your Grace, but, I wonder your thoughts on seeing my niece today," Jaime said.

"If you're wondering if I'll be fair to her, then know I will," Jon stated. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him.

Jon made it to the throne room, and looked upon the most uncomfortable chair in existence.

_Fuck Aegon for making this fucking chair. It doesn't remind me to never be comfortable in my rule. It only tells me that the first King was a cunt._

Jon sat the throne and listened to lord after lord air a grievance and ask a favor. Each one knelt and whined. Throughout it all, Jon's face never admitted any sympathy, nor any emotion whatsoever. Other than occasional annoyance.

Sitting the throne was the most insipid part of being King. In truth, he wanted to be at the front line in the Stepstones or the Iron Islands, like he was in Skagos. Anything other than sitting and speaking to soft Southron lords.

By the end, Jon left the Throne without a second look at the crowd in attendance. He was walking through the halls, about to enter Maegor's Holdfast, when he saw a group of his Kingsguard strolling about the Keep.

"Ser Jaime, what's the meaning of this?" Jon asked.

"Ah yes, the party's arrived," Jaime said.

Immediately the host of guards arrived before the King and they disbanded to reveal Cersei Lannister. She was the same blonde-haired cunt he remembered from his youth. The one who looked at him like he cost her a chance at a crown. Now, however, she was smiling.

"My sister, Cersei Lannister," Jaime introduced her. He kissed her cheek and Cersei giggled. 

"It is a pleasure, Your Grace," Cersei said.

"I'm sure it is, but why are you here unannounced, escorted by my guards?" Jon asked accusingly.

Cersei looked falsely embarrassed. "Forgive me, Your Grace," she said, "I believe they are simply protecting the royal family."

Before Jon could question her, Cersei stepped aside, and a petite blonde girl walked up to him. Jon lost all focus and stared only at her. Her long blonde hair was in perfect ringlets and her eyes were an emerald green. Her face was cute and innocent, and her cheeks were round. Her figure was small but she had a bit of baby fat and she wore a perfect gold dress, one with many layers. She looked up at him with innocent eyes, and smiled.

"Your Grace, this is your Queen, Myrcella." Cersei said. 


	3. Chapter 3

_To the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Tywin of House Lannister,_

  
I shall address first the things you undoubtedly wish to know: Myrcella is prepared to wed the King, and there is no pause in the process. And despite what pleas and influences that were made, we could not get him to name you his Hand. I shall press further.

We were fortunate that Rhaegar and his heir died when they did, for Jon Targaryen is a grown man. It would have been worse to have a boy be king. He is of sound mind. He does not seem the whoring type, from what I have gathered from my sources. With our influence he can be a great king.

But there is a concern I have. I have found our new King different from what either of us imagined. Ned Stark's influence is more than obvious. He wishes to conduct court as if he were some Northern savage.

You shall soon hear of the executions, so let me be the first to tell you. Jon Targaryen executed Dontos Hollard and Meryn Trant in front of the Red Keep. They were found responsible of providing passage to those who lit the wildfire below the Sept of Baelor. But what makes this worse is the speed of the trial.

I remember once seeing the Mad King. He was frail and weak, and demanded the heads of everyone he suspected. King Jon is different.

Yes, he permitted not the cries nor excuses of Trant or Hollard. He asked only where they were and what they did, and who they worked for. But father, he even forbid Grandmaester Ebrose from speaking of the gods' mercies before their trials. He spoke every question himself, and only allowed the accused to answer in "yes," "no," or give a name.

It was not half an hour before each trial was over, and he led the men outside for the executions. When Ser Payne approached, ready to perform his duty, the King moved him away and had his aunt give him a sword. He said spoke mercies on their souls and killed each man himself. Trant cried like a worm and tried to beg mercy, but the King kicked his head back onto the chopping block and ended it. The people gave a nervous cheer when the executions were over.

I worry, Father, that the King will not be as easy to influence as we had hoped. His family's deaths nor his youth have led him to trust his advisors nor find solace in my daughter's loving arms.

I first thought he committed so violent an act to make himself seem like Maekar or Maegor the Cruel. But Jaime tells me that he asked the King why he did it. The King only said it was how Cregan the Old Wolf would have handled it.

I await your return to King's Landing, Father. Regardless of how the King has disappointed us, I believe your meeting with him will be quite exciting. He reminds me of you.

_Dutifully, Your Daughter_


	4. Chapter 4

"Your Grace," Rennifer Longwaters pleaded, looking contrite, "Ser Ilyn would prefer if his role as the King's Justice be preserved."  
  
Jon turned to Ilyn Payne. "No, I'll execute every man myself," Jon affirmed.  
  
They were in the Great Hall of the Red Keep. It was nearing a week since Myrcella and her mother arrived. Jon was guarded by Jaime Lannister, who stood silent, while lords and ladies spoke with the Acting Hand, Beric Dondarrion, who sat the throne. Jon had been looking at the dragon skulls placed around the Hall when Ser Ilyn and his tongue arrived.  
  
"Your Grace," Rennifer started nervously, "Ser Ilyn has been quite upset with you taking his duties. A King's Justice cannot keep his blade clean for too long."  
  
Jon stared hard at Ilyn Payne, the ugly Westerman who'd been appointed by Lord Connington as a gesture of good will to the Lannisters. It was one of the only such gestures made by the last King. Payne gave Jon the same look of disdain he was met with.  
  
_I was enjoying the peace and quiet when this fuck showed up._  
  
 Jon knew that other Kings let the King's Justice swing the sword. That was the precise reason he decided to do it himself. That, and because a King didn't need anyone to do his job for him.  
  
 Jon approached Ser Ilyn, and Rennifer, the man who spoke for him, back up. Jon eyed the man, who gave nothing away. It upset the King, knowing that his mere presence didn't cause Payne to quake. To Ilyn, he was just a boy playing King.  
  
_Then I will have to earn such respect._  
  
 "Ser Ilyn," Jon said, "If you want to swing my sword, do so when not in the city. Otherwise, it is my duty now."  
  
 The knight would have bitten his tongue in anger if he had one. Then Ser Ilyn turned to Jaime Lannister, who merely shrugged. Then Ilyn walked away angrily, and his tongue followed with him.   
  
_Rennifer Longwaters; if he didn't have proof, I wouldn't believe he's a distant cousin of mine._  
  
 Jon turned to Ser Jaime suspiciously, who looked as if he did not understand why the King was looking at him in such a way.  
  
 "Yes, Your Grace?" Jaime asked, holding one hand to his white Kingsguard armour.  
  
 "He looked at you like he expected you to intervene," Jon stated, "Your Father wanted that man appointed. What do you know?"  
  
 "Your Grace, I know nothing. I barely speak to my father," Jaime said in a sigh, "I understand your suspicions. But I believe they should be directed elsewhere."  
  
 "Why is that?" Jon asked.  
  
 "Ser Ilyn is a man who lives for killing; nothing else," Jaime said, "This was a personal request."  
  
 Jon considered his words, and found them valid. The King walked through the Great Hall, avoiding any looks from ambitious Lords. They should have been addressing the Hand, but few could avoided voicing their thoughts to the King as he passed. Ser Jaime followed.   
  
 "Your Grace," Lord Darry said as he passed.  
  
 Jon paid him no attention.  
  
 "Your Grace!" Lady Toland said as he neared the entrance of the Sept.  
  
 Jon didn't look at her.  
  
 "Your Grace," Jon heard. It was the seductive voice of a salty Dornishwoman. He could tell by the accent.  
  
 Jon only walked into the Sept and left them behind. Ser Jaime followed, right behind him. He looked like he wanted to speak. The Lionknight was good swordsman. That was why Jon kept him for his personal guard. But if Jaime kept interrupting Jon's thoughts with his own, he'd see himself replaced.  
  
 Jon continued walking through the Sept, not looking at any of the figures of the Seven. "What is it, Ser Jaime?" Jon asked, as he was annoyed to hear again from the man.   
  
 "Well, Your Grace, I do wonder..." And Ser Jaime trailed off.  
  
 Jon stopped. Jaime was rarely so reticent, so this must have been important. "Tell me," he ordered the Knight.  
  
 "My sister, Lady Cersei, tells me you haven't spoken to Myrcella since your first meeting with her," Jaime stated.  
  
 Jon went silent. He didn't want to talk about this. "I've given her freedom to roam the Keep," Jon said. "And I am busy."  
  
 "She's my... niece," Jaime struggled to say, "It would do well you could speak with her."  
  
 Jon considered the man's words. He hadn't wanted to see Myrcella Lannister at first because she was with her mother. Cersei had the gall to consider herself worthy of Royal protection without the marriage having occurred. But now he avoided her for another reason. After seeing the young lioness for the first time, he told himself he could not see her again.   
  
 In truth, he trusted no Lannisters. He hardly trusted Jaime. He still waited for the report, to know what would be done with them. But Myrcella complicated the matters. Oh did she complicate them.   
  
 "I will see her," Jon said, "After I have spoken with Daenerys."  
  
 Jon continued walking through the Sept until he encountered a set of steps. He climbed up them, and Jaime followed, his head lowered. Jon turned to the Knight.  
  
 "Wait here," he said.  
  
 As he reached the top, he found himself in a small room above the closed off and hidden. It was dark.  
  
 "You've made it," Daenerys said, as she approached him.  
  
 "Aye," Jon responded.  
  
 "I've done as you asked," Dany said, "This is just the first hidden passage I have found in the Keep."  
  
 "And the others?" Jon asked.  
  
 "My girls are still looking," Dany said as she got closer. Even in the dark she wore a beautiful silk shirt and trousers. "We'll have this keep mapped out soon. As for your other requests, I still need time to confirm the names of the traitors. I would not assume Tywin is a sole conspirator."  
  
 The Lions were on the shortlist for possible traitors. Euron was just too easy to scapegoat, so Jon and Dany endeavored to find who really must've blown up the Sept of Baelor.   
  
 "Yet you still want me to marry her," Jon said.  
  
 "Even if the Lannisters are responsible there is no chance she would have known. And betrothing you to Myrcella was the last major deed performed by the last King," Dany said angrily, "You cannot go back on this. You will marry her."  
  
 Daenerys and his council reminded him again and again not to break the bethrothal. Jon remained silent and angry. His aunt was the only one who could speak like that to him. Well, she was one of two.  
  
 Dany approached him, her arms crossed. Her piercing violet eyes looked red.   
  
 "Why haven't you spoken to her?" Dany asked.  
  
 "I have no interest marrying a little girl," Jon stated.  
  
 Dany's lips turned half-bemused.  
  
 "I saw her; she's a beautiful woman, small and kind, with long blonde locks which flow like a waterfall," Daenerys said.  
  
 "Why does-" Jon tried to say when Daenerys reached down his trousers and grabbed his cock.   
  
 "I describe her and your body betrays you," She said and removed her hand. Jon was too shocked to move. "You lust after her. And makes you afraid."  
  
 Jon tried to get over his shock at his aunt doing what she just did.  
  
 "I am not," Jon stated.  
  
 "You hired me for a reason nephew," Dany said, "I know."  
  
 Jon wanted to fight the accusations, but he remained stone-faced.  
  
 "Don't feel shame in it," Dany said, "She'll turn ten-and-four soon, and she's already had her moon blood. She's a woman, truly."  
  
 "I am leaving," Jon said.  
  
 Dany teased him before he left. "Don't feel ashamed to bed her when you like; you are the King," she said.  
  
  _Not only must I consider the Lannisters possible traitors, but now I must deal with that._  
  
 Jon walked through the halls, and soon had Jaime at his back yet again. Jon walked quickly, taking in the sight of the Red Keep's inner walls. He walked by the Maidenvault and then to the guarded walls of the Keep.   
  
 He decided to reevaluate every defense in King's Landing and reevaluate every guard and structure. Each soldier had to approach him, shaved and wearing freshly-cleaned armour, and had to show a face of extreme discipline and calm.   
  
 It was a command sent out to every commander of the gold cloaks, Kingsguard and squadron: the King will arrive at a random time and evaluate the skill of each man. A failure meant that man's dismissal and a punishment for the commander.  
  
_I'll see that this godsfaken city be made worthy of its name._  
  
 The men on the walls demonstrate their discipline and archery, and after several minutes, were deemed worthy by the King. Jon noticed several sighs of relief after he left.  
  
 Jon descended down the courtyard, until he arrived in the godswood.   
  
 "You may leave me," the King said to Ser Jaime, who looked down and then walked off, as if he was disappointed.  
  
 Jon entered the wooded area and felt at home again. The smell of forest wood and mist, it was his favorite recollection from Winterfell.  
  
 Jon stopped through the woods until he found the heart tree. It was a thick, dark oak, not the weirwood he had grown used to, but the pained faced carved into the tree gave him the same chills any weirdwood would. Jon knelt at the tree and prayed.  
  
 If the smallfolk knew that the King cared nothing for the new gods and cared only for the Old, there might be a war. But Jon could not betray his heritage. He was of the North. He always would be.   
  
 He prayed for wisdom and health for his mother's family, and the he prayed for the souls of his Father's. If he was a few years younger, he might have weeped. He also prayed for the slaves captured at Hardhome, those he couldn't save.  
  
 "I should have expected to find you here," Jon heard. It was a sweet, girly voice. He turned. It was Myrcella.  
  
 "They say the King is more Stark than Targaryen," she said, approaching him, "I suppose it's true."  
  
 Jon turned and stood. Myrcella was wearing a bright peach-colored dress with red threading. The expression she carried had neither anger nor sadness nor joy.  
  
 "Lady Myrcella," Jon said humbly, as he would any highborn lady.  
  
 "Your Grace," she replied. She turned away and paused. "I hope I am not intruding."  
  
 "I-no," Jon struggled to say. "Sit, if you like." He wave toward a fallen log, one often used for meditation.  
  
 Myrcella sat down gracefully and looked up at him. Jon followed and continued staring at her.  
  
 "Are you offended?" he asked her.  
  
 "No," she said, "Others might be. I follow the Seven, but I am interested in the Old Gods. Where they came from. What they ask for."  
  
 "The Gods of the Forests, they ask for nothing, and they often give the same," Jon responded.  
  
 "That's rather sad," Myrcella said, and she looked down.  
  
 Her pout felt like it almost stabbed Jon.  
  
 "No, it's... It's not the same," Jon said, "The Old Gods don't offer anything; they only let us see ourselves through them. They take our hopes and prayers, and we must make them true," Jon explained.  
  
 Myrcella raised her head and looked so young and curious. "Could you explain it to me? How the Old Gods are?" she asked.  
  
 "Aye," Jon responded, "If you explain the Seven to me."  
  
 Myrcella smiled, and Jon couldn't help but do the same.  
  
 So they talked. They talked about the gods and their cultures. Jon explained to her why the North was so different, and Myrcella spoke about the Westerlands.  
  
 "We have a weirdwood tree at Casterly Rock, in the Stone Garden," she said, "It's a twisted thing and the face always scared me."  
  
 Jon smiled at that. "Aye, the faces are scary. Like the power of the gods, they are."  
  
 "Like the power of Kings," Myrcella joked, with a big smile.  
  
 Jon frowned at that, which made Myrcella look unhappy. "No, not ex-" Jon stopped. He looked around and saw that it was already night.   
  
  _How long have we been here?_  
  
 Jon looked away. "I never wanted to be King," he said.  
  
 After several moments, he felt a small hand on his chin. Myrcella turned his head looked at him.  
  
 "I'm sorry about your family," she said. Her soft green eyes looked like they were in so much pain. It broke his heart, so Jon held both of her hands in his own. He didn't know what to say, so he tried to thank her with his eyes. She smiled, so Jon believe she got the message.  
  
 "I never wanted to be Queen," she said. Jon looked at her curiously, so she explained. "I never wanted to be betrothed. I don't like being sold off as a broodmare."  
  
 "So why are you doing it?" Jon asked.  
  
 "Why are you King?" Myrcella asked.  
  
 "Because I must be," he explained, and Myrcella looked at him, as if he answered his own question.  
  
 So Jon looked away and then back to the night sky. "We should be going," he said.  
  
 "Aye," Myrcella said, imitating his thick northern accent.  
  
 Jon turned to her and she giggled.  
  
 "You're making jipes," he told her.  
  
 "No, I like your voice. It's so strong.. and cute," she said.  
  
 Jon only smiled and got up.  
  
 "Shall we see each other again, Your Grace?" Myrcella asked.  
  
 "Aye," Jon said. Myrcella smiled brightly.  
  
 "Then farewell," she squealed, before leaving the godswood.  
  
 Jon was left alone. He turned to the dower face of the heart tree, then left after her. There at guard was Ser Barristan.  
  
 "What happened to Ser Jaime?" Jon asked his friend.  
  
 "He took Lady Myrcella to her chambers," Ser Barristan said.  
  
_No wonder she found herself at the heart tree._  
  
 Barristan stared at Jon. The man looked like he'd seen a ghost.  
  
 "What is it?" The King asked.  
  
 "It's nothing; it's good to see you smile again," Barristan said, before escorting Jon to the King's chambers.  
  
 Jon walked and felt shaken at the man's words.   
  
  _Have I not smiled since the Sept?_  
  
 Jon entered his chambers and felt into bed. He would wake up at dawn, to train with the sword. It was a skill he learned in Winterfell, to get up early and train, so he might carry on the day without fear or distractions.  
  
 In his sleep, Jon dreamed. There were the typical things: Arya's laugh, his mother's jokes, his uncle's advice. And then there was Aegon's last words to him and his father placing a princely cape around him at the age of seven. And then there was the dream of explosions and green fire.   
  
  _Beneath the smoke, though, was a sweet scene of a forest untouched by the green fire. There against the heart tree laid a too-young blonde girl. She was small and attractive, and she was naked, her legs spread and her womanhood without a hair. In this dream, she begged him to take her maidenhead._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This image I edited still requires work but it's a good representation of what Jon and Myrcella look like together. I'll continue to edit it.

_*He was larger than her, and his hands rougher. He touched her hands, and almost moaned at how soft they were.*  
  
*She looked up at him, his cool grey eyes, which always looked angry, which always conveyed his distaste for the world, looked sweet and shy with her, and only with her.*  
  
*She put her small hands on his chest, and helped him remove his shirt. He was so strong and larger than her, that she couldn't help but touch his hairy chest and look in awe.*  
  
*He grabbed her small arse and held her to him, making her yelp as he pushed her body to his own. She was over a foot shorter than him and her head was barely at his chest. She looked up at him nervously, biting her bottom lip. His hard length was pressed against her stomach.*  
  
*Her soft blonde hair was splayed against his chest. She looked up at him. His messy black hair was pulled backed and his hand gripped her butt with such firmness that she couldn't escape.*  
  
*He reached down and touched her lips with his own. His lips left here red and hot, and his manhood only grew harder.*  
  
*Myrcella looked up at him, waiting for his next move, for he was in total control. Seeing this, Jon grabbed both of her hands and put them around the loop in his trousers.*  
  
*Without speaking, he was asking her with his eyes. Whether his trousers would come off was her decision. Still, his eyes and almost panting breath begged her to free him.*  
  
*Her small fingers undid his trousers and moved them down. His large cock pressed against her belly and it made her almost gasp. It was the first she had ever seen, outside of seeing her brothers in baths and naked orphans running about King's Landing.*  
  
*Unconsciously, she grabbed it and stroked it, curiously. Immediately, Jon held her cheek and groaned.*  
  
*After a few moments, Myrcella did something that surprised Jon.*  
  
*She backed up and laid on the bed, and spread her legs. "Put it inside me," she said cooly.*  
  
*Jon was surprised by her forwardness, but he approached her, his sword pointing toward her sheath. He entered her and they both moaned and felt better than they ever have before.*  
  
*Jon began fucking her faster, and Myrcella blushed and spread her legs as far as possible with her hands. She was his. So she decided to change it.*  
  
*"Stop," she ordered him.*  
  
*Jon, stopped, concerned that he hurt her.*  
  
*So Myrcella turned around and got on all fours. "I'm a lion," she moaned, "Take me like one."*  
  
*Jon got behind her and bit her neck. Myrcella cried in pleasure and Jon grabbed her soft blonde hair. He looked into her eyes which were half-afraid and half-longing. He kissed sweetly and held her tenderly. Then he smashed her face into the bed and entered her hard.*  
_  
  
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Myrcella squealed as she was masturbating furiously. She was in her room, laying on her bed naked after an amazing dream.  
  
_I'm so close. I'm so close..._  
  
Suddenly she put two fingers inside and took them out quickly, running her hand along her clit as she did. Myrcella squealed in the girliest way and then screamed a silent scream.  
  
She saw stars and nearly passed out.  
  
After ten minutes, she had finally stopped convulsing and she regained full consciousness.  
  
She laid down, her legs still spread and a wet spot now on the bed. She would need to change sheets, again.  
  
Myrcella got up and went to take a bath. Afterwards she dressed in a pretty yellow dress which skirted across the marble of the Red Keep.  
  
She brushed her hair and added the slightest touches to her face. It was her morning routine.  
  
Her Handmaid, Shireen Baratheon, came into her room and tied the back of her dress and further brushed her hair. She regailed her of what had become of the Keep since her fateful meeting with His Grace.  
  
"The King has been dealing with an envoy from the Iron Bank, and settling land disputes with the Freys. I believe as of now he is at a Small Council meeting," Shireen said.  
  
"Thank you, Lady Shireen," Myrcella said.  
  
"Thank you, Your Grace," Shireen said before leaving.  
  
Her mother had demanded that all their servants call Myrcella "Her Grace" since the Tragedy at the Sept. To Myrcella, it was in bad taste. But she could not stop her mother if she tried.  
  
The blonde girl stood and looked around, before deciding to leave her chambers. Her guard, her own uncle, stood outside her door and followed her. It was good having uncle Jaime around. He was almost sweet to her and great for advice, as though she was his own daughter.  
  
_No, don't think that. Do not ever ask._  
  
"Myrcella," Jaime said, "You are late to break your fast."  
  
They walked through Maegor's holdfast.  
  
"Forgive me, nuncle," she replied, "I hope mother is not crossed with me."  
  
"She's heard that you've been meeting with the King," he said, "Keep that up and you may sleep in all you like."  
  
_Right... Sleep._  
  
"I do not like her interfering," Myrcella said honestly.  
  
Jaime chuckled. "Yet neither you nor I can stop her," he said, "Besides, if she did not insist, would you have talked to him at supper?"  
  
"No," Myrcella admitted.  
  
It was true. It had been five days since she and King Jon had spoken in the godswood. Now, they were speaking regularly, and seeing each other in open spaces.  
  
She had been so afraid to meet him. Partly she disliked being forced to marry. But she was a highborn lady. It was expected of her. But then there was word of the kind of man Jon was. His first act since his coronation was an order to storm all the Iron Islands and the immediate arrest of anyone who was near the Sept at the time.  
  
It seemed a conspiracy to Myrcella, knowing that most of the perpetrators were not aware of what they were doing. Most confessed to being paid to keep gates open and not report the comings and goings of Ironborn throughout the city. The Fire Mage was of particular interest, for he confessed to giving knowledge of the location of several caches of wildfire, and being paid not to tell anyone.  
  
Still, King Jon the First of House Targaryen cared little for the intentions of the conspirators. By the fifth day of his reign he had executed twenty men.  
  
It scared Myrcella, knowing that such a man would soon own her in all the ways the Faith deemed appropriate. She would have to serve him and support him not only as a dutiful wife, but doubly so as a dutiful queen.  
  
Her cruel brother told her that the King bore none of the grace of King Rhaegar and instead draped himself in pelts and human skin like a Savage Northerner, that he was covered in blood after every morning at court, that he had septas burned for not following his heathen gods and that he was killing all the nobility he even slightly disliked.  
  
Myrcella was smart enough to know it was all a lie, but still, feared clouded her senses for days. Her mother did not seem to care, so long as her daughter became Queen.  
  
When she met him, Myrcella had been lectured by her mother to appear as loving and sweet as possible.  
  
"But, mother, what if he's cruel?" Myrcella cried.  
  
"Worry not, my dear," Cersei said, "if he's the bloody Northman they say he is, he will like you all the same. Northerners are known to kidnap pretty, young Southron girls and rape them. So worry not, either way you shall bear his child."  
  
Her words only terrified Myrcella more. Cersei suggested that if Jon did not take her as a queen then he would take her as a prize.  
  
When she finally met him at the Keep, he looked even more rough than expected, but his expression was just so sweet. He wore dark attire and some black furs, and a crown of spikes. He was more than a head taller and undoubtedly strong, but the look he gave her was one of sheer sympathy and compassion. And even more, he was not the savage man she was told. He was a boy.  
  
Myrcella could not help but smile.  
  
"It is good to meet you, My Lady," the King had quickly said. Then he turned to her mother. "You may use my guard."  
  
And he nearly ran away. It was so cute. He acted like the blacksmith's boy who always stared at her in Casterly Rock, but ran away when she approached him.  
  
Since that first meeting, she watched him. He was evasive, but she found the perfect spot in the Red Keep to watch him train in the yard. He was good with the sword, and seeing his bulging muscles and hard expression made her wet. She watched him at Court. He sat the Iron Throne lightly and was often curt with people, but he was not unfair or cruel. The only thing she did not watch were his executions. Myrcella nearly cried the first time she saw Jon pick up the executioners blade and swing. She closed her eyes.  
  
It was too scary, too brutal. It wasn't what she wanted.  
  
Still, beyond it all, she knew she had to know him, and he would not kill her if she tried.  
  
So she met him at the godswood, with her uncle's advice. It was surreal seeing the King forgo the gods of his father's ancestors, but then again, he was the son of the Clawed Queen, the one Myrcella's mother called the "Wolf Bitch."  
  
Hearing him talk to her in his thick Northern accent was so joyful. She wanted to hear him all the time.  
  
After that, they spoke every day, at supper and before he held Court. He was so kind to her, so sweet and lovable. Yet, to everyone else he was curt or brutal. It made her sad, knowing that only she heard him so sweetly. He spoke about his mother and his cousins. The North became less scary to her, but Jon insisted it was a harsh place. She spoke of her family and brothers. She admired his uncle's sense of honor and compared it with Jaime's, though Jon smiled awkwardly and wondered how a kingslaver could be honorable. Myrcella only asked if ending the Mad reign could not be honorable. Jon smiled and agreed with her.  
  
They found a place in the gardens to speak often. Just like her, he had few friends in King's Landing, so with each other they found kinship.  
  
Joffrey was entirely wrong... Well, mostly.  
  
He continued be harsh at court and scaring many of Myrcella's friends at Casterly Rock, such as Talla Tarly who fostered there. It was difficult to explain that the Northern Dragon kind at heart.  
  
Her mother was thrilled at her progress, and encouraged her to take him to bed.  
  
"You are doing marvelously, dearest," she said one night. "Offer him your bed. Offer your body in his, if you must. I wager you shall have princes before you even take a crown!"  
  
Cersei Lannister smiled too hard. And her words only made Myrcella uncomfortable. Before she could request that she be given more time, or at least wait until the bedding ceremony, Cersei only made it more awkward.  
  
"When his penis is inside of you, made sure you are sufficiently wet. And have as much fun as you like, just ensure you wrap your legs around him when he ejaculates," Cersei said matter-of-factly. She was mad.  
  
Myrcella blushed hard.  
  
_Damn it, mother..._  
  
"I-I shall, but please allow me to sleep," Myrcella stuttered.  
  
"Oh my dear, you have no reason to feel nervous," Cersei said happily, "Your uncle Jaime tells me the King is almost falling over you. Never deny him, my daughter, for I would not be surprised if he simply grabbed you in the halls and threw you in his bed!" Cersei laughed in utter joy and left the room.  
  
Myrcella blushed and pressed her head into the pillow.  
  
Still, everything her mother said found its way into her imagination. She woke up wet and with her hand between her legs more than once. He would be her husband, and though they never talked about it, the thought consumed her mind, and her loins.  
  
  
  
She met him at the King in his study. She knocked, and the door to his solar opened. Inside was the King at his desk and Princess Daenerys Targaryen. She was beautiful, and only a few inches taller. Jon looked furious until he saw Myrcella at the door, and his expression softed.  
  
"Lady Myrcella," he said, "please enter."  
  
"Your Grace, we were discussing the Frey situation," Daenerys said, annoyed.  
  
"You wanted me to speak to her, so I shall," Jon said, ushering Myrcella in, and she left Jaime outside the door.  
  
Myrcella entered, trying not to look at and offend the Princess. She sat before him and Daenerys did as well, in another seat.  
  
"How was your first meal of the day?" Jon asked.  
  
"I'm afraid I did not, I awoke late," Myrcella said, trying not to say the truth.  
  
"Shame, I sent you a small gift," Jon said, "I'll have it brought here."  
  
"That's unnecessary, Your Grace," Myrcella said, though his actions made her happy.  
  
"Yet I shall make it so," Jon said. "Ah yes, this is my aunt, Daenerys."  
  
Myrcella looked to the young princess, whose expression softened.  
  
"I'm glad to meet you, Your Grace," Myrcella said.  
  
"I shall be saying the same in a fortnight," Daenerys replied.  
  
Myrcella smiled nervously and looked to Jon.  
  
"The wedding is occurring soon," Daenerys stated, "Have you discussed who shall be attending?"  
  
Myrcella was about to answer, when Jon interrupted her.  
  
"I've put her mother in charge of it," Jon stated.  
  
"You'd see lion sigils all around the Red Keep; that does not bode well," Daenerys stated. "You may lead in political matters, but do you try for matters of appearance."  
  
Jon looked unhappy at her forwardness and Myrcella almost gasped. No one questioned the King's competence; every lord and lady from Tyrell to Hightower cowered at court.  
  
Jon looked challengingly Daenerys. "Then I'll put you in charge," he said.  
  
That surprised Myrcella. So far, the princess was the only person he relented to. Daenerys, however, looked unimpressed.  
  
"We were discussing the Frey issue," she said. "We ought to continue."  
  
"I have a guest," Jon said.  
  
"Nephew, Your Betrothed will face this question soon enough. You might as well let her in," Daenerys stated.  
  
"Then I shall," Jon said, and he turned to Myrcella. "Walder Frey is claiming a bastard of Aegon to his daughter."  
  
Myrcella's eyes piqued in interest. "Is it?" Myrcella asked.  
  
"I doubt it, as does Daenerys," Jon stated. "But what makes matters worse is that the child is boy of silver hair and violet eyes. I could end the issue with a pen stroke, but two of Walder's sons are challenging the claim. They've threatened war on their father's house unless he rescinds his claim for recognition."  
  
"I don't understand," Myrcella said, "Why would any Freys deny a connection to the throne?"  
  
"Merret is without lands and titles if it is true," Daenerys stated. "He's the ninth son; he's like to be overshadowed even more than his elder brothers if a Targaryen bastard is admitted. The same is likely true for many others. The seeds of discontent were sown long ago in the Frey children. We cannot let there be a war between them."  
  
Myrcella thought hard about it. These were the issues that Kings and Queens had to make. It would mark their reigns and impact all their children.  
  
"Why don't you believe it is a natural born son?" Myrcella asked.  
  
"Frey offered me his daughter when I traveled South," Jon said. "He would have claimed the child mine, if I had taken her."  
  
The thought filled her mind with disgust. She knew the Walder Frey would not dare claim a bastard the King never made, not after hearing of how he acted at court. Making it Aegon's bastard gave him an excuse.  
  
"Then we must find the true father," Myrcella said.  
  
Daenerys was smiling at her now, "You're smart. I already have my girls investigating. I shall find him soon."  
  
Myrcella looked curiously at Daenerys and then to Jon.  
  
"Then we shall discuss this once you have more information," Jon said, allowing Daenerys to leave.  
  
"Not so fast," Daenerys stated, "I wish to have a discussion with your Betrothed."  
  
"Why?" The King asked, annoyed.  
  
"I wish to test her and see if she is worthy of you," Daenerys deadpanned.  
  
Myrcella's heart dropped and she panicked. She looked at Jon pleadingly.  
  
"I mean girl talk," Daenerys said, with a fake grin.  
  
He looked annoyed. "Do not play with me or make jokes." He turned to Myrcella. "Don't let her frighten you," Jon stated, "If she does something you don't like, tell me."  
  
Jon got up, leaving Myrcella only with the Targaryen princess. Daenerys stared at her, judging her.  
  
"Tell me about yourself," Daenerys said.  
  
"Well, Your Grace, I was born to Casterly Rock to Gerion and Cersei Lannister. I have an older brother Joffrey and a younger brother named Tommen. I enjoy watching tourneys and doing my handmaiden's hair, though she is tasked to do mine," Myrcella tried to continue her well-prepared speech.  
  
"Your mother is a liar and she tasked you with bedding the King and gaining his favor," Daenerys stated, her head cocked to the side, "You are afraid of her but you do what she says. You still play with dolls even though you are too old for it. Your older brother is mad and tortures animals. You wonder if your real father is Jaime Lannister."  
  
Myrcella gasped openly, her eyes wide in horror. Daenerys got up from her seat, and walked over to pour herself a glass of wine.  
  
"I have eyes everywhere, dearest," Daenerys said, holding up her glass, "I must keep my nephew secure, and far away from any dangers that might approach him. With how he's taken his new duties, you can imagine many would want him gone, or dead."  
  
Daenerys had a sip of her wine.  
  
"This is Dornish wine," she said, "that's what the merchant who sold it said. But I know the taste of a glass of Norvosi when I taste it. It's like that the merchant had a surplus and was eager to rid himself of it. So I want you to know, My Lady, that I can tell whether this glass of wine," she held it out to Myrcella, making her smell it, "is genuine. Or not. My nephew is not a mind reader. He only cares that he takes the right heads. It is my job to bring him the guilty ones."  
  
Myrcella looked up at Daenerys nervously. She had to be prepared for this. Questions and doubt her intentions were inevitable. She was a lioness of the Rock, she remembered her mother saying, she could not break.  
  
Myrcella stood up. "I wonder, Your Grace, whether you are too quick to judge," Myrcella said, "I've tasted my share of wines, though I never drink it. Mayhaps your drinking impairs some bit of judgment."  
  
Daenerys raised her eyebrow in surprise.  
  
"Taste it, then," she said, offering Myrcella the wine.  
  
Myrcella took it and eyed the princess. Then she took a swig.  
  
"Aye, this is Norvosi," Myrcella stated. Then she held her hand to her head. "By the gods I hope I am not drunk. I'm a lightweight. A man. Or woman, could ask me anything and I would have no concerns but to answer honestly."  
  
Daenerys actually laughed at that. And she took her wine back.  
  
"You seem a decent girl," Daenerys said, putting down her wine glass. "Intelligent, a quite kind. My nephew could use you in his life. And you are also quite pretty."  
  
"Thank you, Your Grace," Myrcella stated, happily.  
  
"No thanks are necessary," Daenerys said. Then she grabbed Myrcella's cheeks. "And I really do mean pretty." Daenerys stared at her and it was actually making Myrcella uncomfortable again."very, very pretty. You must know what you are doing to my nephew. He called you a little girl. You are so young and dainty, so he does want to hurt you. But I can tell, in his eyes he wants to simply ravish you and drown you in his seed."  
  
That... Made Myrcella wince and bite her lower lip.  
  
_But why am I dripping?_  
  
"I recommend preparing yourself for the bedding. He may lose control of himself entirely," Daenerys said. "I wonder you, have you kissed anyone before."  
  
"No," Myrcella whimpered.  
  
"Then you should learn," Daenerys whispered before leaning in.  
  
Myrcella panicked but has entirely still. Daenerys stopped before their lips touched.  
  
"Once you are married to Jon, he shall be more protective of you and jealous than he is now," Daenerys said, "I may only get one chance at this. Would you like your husband to taste experienced lips when you first kiss?"  
  
Myrcella's eyes were big and she tried to whimper again.  
  
"Fuck it," Daenerys said before capturing Myrcella's lips with her own. Myrcella was still and did not breathe while Daenerys ran her tongue in Myrcella's mouth. She always squeezed Myrcella's small butt, making her squeal and try to push away. When she did, Daenerys gave up her grip and looked down at the other petite girl and looked consumed by lust. "Thank you, my dearest. Now run off and find the King. I shall attend some other guests, to help with my situation." Daenerys smiled lecherously before walking off and out the door.  
  
Myrcella was still for so long. Then she left, through Jon's door, and found him around a corner.  
  
He was without his crown, as if he was pacing and waiting for her.  
  
"My lad-" he tried to say before Myrcella jumped on him and kissed him.  
  
His arms wrapped around her protectively.  
  
_I am too short to hold your face and make you kiss me. But I can do this._


	6. Chapter 6

_ Cold. Ice. Chill.  _

_ Warmth.  _

_ Snow. Blizzard. Wind. _

_ Sun. Flowers. Calm. Hummingbird. _

_ Blood on the snow, freezing as it pools. _

_ Giggles and sighs, blonde hair on a pillow. _

_ Cries. Begging. A sword through the chest. _

_ The taste of berries. Kisses. Hand-holding. _

_ The sound of chains breaking in the ice, women stumbling out, half-dead, naked. _

_ The sound of goddesses singing, braiding their hair, laughing when curious fools walk in their changing rooms. _

Jon’s hands were calloused, having been washed in a hurry. A trip to the Bay of Crabs had required him personally, for the Claw Men bowed only to House Targaryen itself. In the rocky, salty bay, Jon had met with the Brunes, Boggs, Caves, Crabbs, Hardys, and Pynes, each of whom had required a personal acknowledgement from the King. It was easier than originally expected, for the Claw Men to expect a Non-Valyrian King. Jon thanked Myrcella for that.

It was at her insistence that he wear the armour of King Maekar as his own. Maekar the Anvil had been the image he wished exude, she had argued, and they wished to see a dragon leading them, and a dragon alone. The armour was large and heavy, with golden dragons emblazoned on the shoulders, but with it and his crown, Jon looked the part. They proclaimed him his father’s true-born son and were quick to kneel. Jon remained mostly silent, as they did. So long as they kneeled, it mattered not if they liked him. 

Now again in King’s Landing, Jon entered her chambers, wearing his simple shirt and black trousers. He knew he should have been ruling, at counsel, determining which problems needed righting, but now, now he was to spend time with his betrothed.

“Jon,” Myrcella said, suddenly turning to him as she sat on his bed, “I expected you not for another night.”

Myrcella wore a loose white dress, were hung baggy around his knees. Her golden, wavy hair was messy and it looked like she hadn’t fully woken up. She was small, so small compared to him.

“Mercy,” Jon replied, “I wanted to come back quickly.”

He approached her, kneeling by her on the bed. She rose up slowly, holding herself up by her hands against the bed. She was the Maiden incarnate. Jon leaned in closer to her, taking in her scent, one of flowers and of burning kindling. She smiled softly, shyly, noticing that he was so close to her. She was still so resistant, so afraid, yet curious.

“Call me that again,” Myrcella asked in her high, little voice. 

She was like a little girl sometimes; she looked like one quite often. Sometimes she appeared older and more mature when they spoke, but then she broke into her innocent act, when she was scared of him, or when her “mature” act broke. 

“Mercy,” Jon said in his gruff voice. 

Suddenly Myrcella reached up and grasped his hair, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Jon allowed her to take him, pull him back into the bed. She leaned back against the bed, and Jon got on top of her. Their tongues played with each other, and their lips rubbed one another. 

Everything about her was so soft, so sweet. Jon picked his head up, and looked down at her. She looked up at him, silent. Her emerald eyes shined in the morning light. Then her mouth opened, and Jon saw her tongue. Before she could speak he descended on her and captured her tongue. Like he expected, it was petite, soft.

Then guilt rushed through him. Like a chill running up his back, Jon panicked and rose up again, breathing hard. He sat up on the bed, looking away from her. What was he doing? Taking advantage of a girl? She didn’t know what she was doing. She only went along with him, influenced by her mother’s insistence. 

To take advantage of a young girl would make him no better than the slaver’s who sailed to Hardhome. The faces of those girls, chained and tortured, plagued his mind. Such men deserved only death. 

Jon pressed his hands to his knees, angry, guilty, flooded with a need. A need to…

“Puppy,” Myrcella said, drawing him from his brooding, sitting up in bed, “Cuddle Puppy?”

Her pet name for him, developed after many a warm-night with him, just as his for her, “Mercy,” were made in part to excuse their failed attempts at intimacy. They could talk, kiss, cuddle, but anything more would damage his mind too much, and he believed it would damage hers. Cersei could believe what she wanted, but Jon wouldn’t hurt her daughters, damned his desires.

“Myrcella, I am-“ Jon started.

“No, use the other name,” Myrcella said, her face more stoic than desiring.

“Mercy….” Jon tried to say, “I must attend to my duties.” 

Jon got up, walking to his wardrobe to find his King’s Garb. 

“Jon,” Myrcella said, “I still need to break my fast. Will you join me?”

She looked at him with slight disappointment, for he could not finish with her. Jon reached to his leathers and dark cape, pulling it on.

“Aye,” he said, “I can.”

Mycella smiled, and looked a little sheepish. Then she smiled when she saw that he had grabbed a more formal wear of trousers. 

“Aren’t you going to put those on?” she asked.

“Mercy-“ he said.

“I know, I understand,” she said, then she smiled evilly. Myrcella opened her legs, revealing under her short dress a pair of soft blue smallclothes, “Well, I must change as well. Now, leave.”

Jon chuckled lowly and left her room, intending to find his other clothes in his chambers. 

As he did though, he saw Cersei at the end of the hallway, smiling madly at his disheveled look. She was with her guards, on her way to the dining hall, most likely. She didn’t need to say it; he knew what she thought.

Jon remembered every word his mother told him about Cersei; she was vindictive, petty, and cruel. She had all but tried to remove his mother from place as queen, even after she married. The Tally of the Clawed Queen had led Cersei to pursue Rhaegar again. But being estranged did not stop his mother from fighting Cersei and preventing her from furthering any ambitions she had. 

Jon avoided her gaze and composed himself.

_ The Lannisters cannot gain a foothold in the realm. I will not allow it. _

After dressing, Jon attended his morning meal with Myrcella, who wore a dress red-flower dress. They spoke of normal things: the realm, family. And they skirted discussions of the war. It was reported that Balon Greyjoy had been captured and transported to the Riverlands, Robb leading the capture. That meant the Iron Islands were under total control.

_ My council believes there will be a rebellion soon. I count on it. _

Having only told Daenerys and Ser Barristan, Jon had planned a simple gambit to ensure the obedience of the Ironborn. A few intentional missteps would lead Balon’s heir or some other lord to rebel. What they would experience afterward would be a total, scorched-earth policy, removing any rebellious spirits from the islands. 

That left Euron sailing the seas, continuing to escape justice. He had better pray he still could, because when Jon had him he would see he head removed from his body.

Cersei kept relatively quiet, and said little beyond encouraging her ladies in waiting to mention the approaching wedding. Within a week, the King would take a Queen. 

Myrcella only blushed. Jon told her he may only take her maidenhead on their wedding night. By her side, Shireen Baratheon sat contrite. After the Baratheon Rebellion, she and her family remained more like vassals than true lords. She likely knew better than speak to the King.

Jon left to attend his Small Council meeting, intent on bringing a swift end to the Greyjoy problem, and finding a solution to the Frey Situation. What he got, however, was the last thing he expected.

“Say that again,” Jon challenged Maestar Ebrose.

The old healer looked afraid, but did so.

“The wedding has been cancelled,” the Grandmaester said.

Jon’s eyes were firey, but his natural stoic nature prevented him from throwing the old man out of the window. 

“On who’s authority?” Jon asked the man. 

Ebrose turned to Barristan, Dondarrion, and Aurane, Monford’s bastard brother who took his place while he was in the Narrow Sea. Had the Dornish replied to his wish to make Oberyn Master of Laws, and Lord Wylis Manderly arrived to take his position as Master of Coin, the old maester may have felt more at ease.

“I-Well, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan stuttered out. Rarely was the Bold so meek. What could have caused such absolute fear and madness in his council.

“Out with it,” Jon said with venom at his lips.

“It’s your mother,” Daenerys said, entering the council chamber. She wore a light purple dress and walked with the gait of an uncaring god, her expression emotionless.

“What is this your saying,” Jon asked, standing up to meet Daenerys, who walked by him thoughtlessly to sit in her seat.

“Your Mother wrote several letters,” Daenerys said, “One to me, another to the council, and one to Cersei. She has called off the wedding, or postponed, in her role as Dowager Queen.”

Jon’s eyes lit in confusion and anger. What could she want? How did she-

“That’s where I have an iota of confusion,” Aurane interjected, “How does the Queen have any powers? Wasn’t she removed from the capital? And the entire land south?”

“That’s just it, my lord,” Ebrose said, “She doesn’t, nor can she.”

“I don’t understand,” Aurane said again.

“Lyanna’s coming South,” Ser Barristan said.

Jon’s mind was ablaze, but mostly with knowing that he could not stop her. If his mother wanted something, she would have it. He could deny her, rebuke her. But Queen Lyanna, The Clawed Queen, earned her name. She was denying his father’s ruling that she stay North for her own sake. And she was no doubt doing it with some support.

“Where was my uncle in all this?” Jon asked Daenerys.

“It seems that he can no longer stop her,” Dany said, “And I know you may want to rebuke her, but in the letter she sent, she was very clear: she won’t have a new daughter unless she meets the girl you marry.”

Jon thought hard. His mother doing such a thing. It was odd. If he denied her, it would be a deliberate act against her. Could he do it? Could he ever?

“I must say, Your Grace,” Dany said, “You appear more keen on marrying the girl than you did before. Mayhaps that was the good queen’s plan. Now you would invite Lannisters to have more favor in the realm, than your own family, if you rebuke her. It’s surely interesting.” Daenerys actually smiled one of her rare smiles.

She was the only one who could speak half of those words to him without losing their head. But her point was well taken. How far had he allowed Myrcella, that he required his mother to remind him that his original goal was to end their marriage?

“Where are the letters?” Jon asked.

“In your solar,” she replied, “She arrives in a single moon. I believe our good queen is travelling by sea.”

_ Of course she is. My mother was fighting at Skagos with me.  _

Jon calmed himself. He should not have appeared so angry. It was weakness to admit it; it was weakness to be so easily cajoled by the voice of a young girl. He thought and he realized: Robb would arrive soon, and his mother soon after. He would be with family, yet again. And Mercy wasn’t going anywhere.

“Fine then,” Jon said.

His Small Council let out a unifying gasp of relief, except for Dany. 

“There are other matters,” Dondarrion said.

“Let us hear them,” Jon replied.

“The Dornish are acting as isolationists,” the Lightning Lord said, “Their weddings to the Tyrells and others have been stopped. And it is believed that the Prince’s Lady wife has returned from Norvos.”

“What have they to be angry about?” Aurane said, “They had power and influence, and lost as many as the Targaryens here.”

“Well, there is the young girl here,” Dany said, “I am not certain but Martells had considered wedding the king to the Princess Arianne. Now, all such rumors have stopped.”

“And why is that?” Jon asked.

“Cersei spreads rumors,” Dany replied.

Jon’s eyes crossed in anger. “We’ll send a counsel and officially request their presence,” Jon ordered. “Moving on.”

“The Riverlands are a mess of excitement,” Aurane said. 

Everyone turned to him, the new person in the group.

“What with Balon brought through Raventree Hall,” Aurane said, “It has actually stoked another skirmish among the Blackwoods and Brackens, from some conflict at Lord Robb’s entrance.”

“Yet again, the ravens and the mustangs must fight,” Barristan said, “There was blood on the soil, with any of Lord Bracken’s sons injured or beaten.”

Jon knew well of the Blackwood-Bracken feud. As a squire, Ser Barristan taught him of it. It was a shame, how often and eternally they fought.

“What was the skirmish over?” Jon asked.

“It’s of no importance, Your Grace,” Aurane said, to which Barristan nodded, “Simple infighting.”

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“It is better not to know, when Robb found her, she was-“ Aurane said.

“I’ll say this once. Aurane Waters, when I order you to speak, either use your tongue or lose it,” Jon replied.

Aurane sighed. “It was a servant girl,” the bastard said, “She spoke ill the Brackens, and found herself attacked. The Blackwoods responded and tried to attack Bracken’s heir. Robb Stark is said to have spoken as the Hand of the King, only to be involved in the fighting himself. Now half the Brackens and Blackwoods are in jails.”

“What can be done?” Barristan replied, “Marriages have not worked, all peace times have ended. They continue and continue. Little can be done.”

This conflict was one that was too difficult to solve. Yet the thing that lifted Jon’s attention was the second to last detail.

“Lord Dondarrion,” Jon said, “As I instructed, you have written the heads of the Blackwoods and Brackens that Robb would attend their castles, and as Hand would not be treated to fighting, correct?”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Dondarrion spoke. 

The Blackwoods and Brackens. It was a fight as old as the first days of the Blackwoods setting foot in the south. Jon was half-shocked that his council couldn’t see his anger. His word was not to be questioned, yet “that’s just the way things have been” made them forget that. The Blackwoods and Brackens would not be an exception.

They would listen to him. They would listen to him.

_ I will not be rebuked. _

“Then it’s decided,” Jon said, “They have no respect for my word. Write them again, and bring them here.”

“Your Grace?” Ebrose said, “What do you intend?”

“I intend to have my word respected,” Jon said icily, “If they care more for whatever conflict they have then my word, then they don’t deserve to keep their heads.”

Immediately, everyone of his council members’ eyes lit up.

“Your Grace, surely” “You cannot just” “It is madness” “Why not-“ Jon heard. 

_ It does not matter. My mother superseded me. My power is in question. I will ensure it is in question no longer. _

“Quiet,” Jon said, “Bring them here to answer to me!” 

His council members sat back, prepared to hear him.

“They cannot deny my orders, damn their conflict. I gave them room to play enemies, but not when it is against my command. Well, I don’t care if I have to force them into marriages for the next three generations,” Jon said, “I don’t care if I have to strip them of all their lands and turn them into beggars. I don’t care if I have to place a law for the rest of time that any fighting between the two means that five-sixths of them must die. They will not throw away my orders. I will burn their castles to the ground and have them buried together if I must. If the next time I explicitly order something, I expect it done. Give me no excuses of history or inevitability.”

His council sat aback. Rarely did a King get involved in such things, but he needed to bring the realm to order. He would not sleep if it meant ridding every inch of the land of un-harmonious forces. Whether it be Frey, Greyjoy, Bracken, or Stark.

_ They will listen to me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a break from writing. Maybe for a few months. Peace and love, my friends.


	7. Chapter 7

**Myrcella**

_His hands are so big._

Myrcella was in Jon’s solar, on his couch, sitting on his lap. She wore an ornate white dress with flowers on it, while he wore a fur and hide cloak about his shirt. She sat with her legs together, her petite self held by his large arms, drawn into his warmth under his fur cloak.

She kissed him, and she felt the coldness of his breath, the vibrations of his groan, and the moving grip of his hands across her back. They had been like this for the last several days, and moreso since their wedding was halted.

It was embarrassing for Myrcella, who was actually looking forward to wrapping the white silk around their hands and declaring herself his queen for the rest of her days. Jon kissed her, and Myrcella moaned a girlish moan. Jon gripped her tighter. Sometimes, she knew, if she acted too girly and too excited, Jon would be more aggressive. She recalled how he pressed his clothed manhood against her when she squeaked involuntarily while they were sharing his bed. He apologized afterward.

But Myrcella, she only got wet when he touched her so.

Spending their free time kissing in bed, in his solar, in the godswood, as well as eating together at the dining table, became her favorite activity at King’s Landing. Jon was often busy, busier than most king’s if uncle Jaime was correct. He surveyed the city guard and well as the kingsguard weekly, to look for failures and laziness. Jon also took to bringing more disputes to him at the Iron Throne, rather than leaving them to lesser lords.

Still, the few hours she had with him made her days nice. Even if she could not marry him. Or worse yet, deal with her mother.

“That fucking, lying, wretched whore!” Cersei had yelled upon learning the news. Why she chose to vent in front of her daughter, Myrcella had no idea. “She thinks she has the bloody right to call off my baby’s wedding to the king! She’s not queen anymore. I’ll see her punished, I’ll find the city closed down. The bitch queen isn’t even allowed to venture to the South!”

“Mother,” Myrcella said, trying to be nice, “I am upset as well, but Jon is listening to his mother.” _And you’re in my chambers again._

“Oh my sweet daughter,” Cersei said, touching her daughters cheeks, “You’ve done so well. First name basis with the king. I cannot tell you how proud I am. I saw him walk out of your room today, disheveled. Oh, how you’ve done well. I can only imagine how he feels about you, the beautiful, young girl that satisfies all his masculine desires. And he has yet to venture to any brothels. I reckon all his attention is on you, my love. You have even calmed a king all the realm fears. It’s so unfair to you. You’ve done everything right, and now the wolf bitch wants to take it away.” Cersei sounded genuinely upset. Myrcella wouldn’t mention that she had never done anything so lecherous with Jon just yet.

“Jon tells me we shall marry,” Myrcella replied, hoping to please her mother, “He needs only to entertain his mother’s desire to meet me.”

Cersei looked upset, and then she looked to be thinking. Then she smiled.

_Oh no._

“That is it, my dear,” Cersei said, “Listen to me now. You are the only woman other than his aunt that the king listens to here in the Keep. Keep it like this. Find your way into his heart, not only to his loins. Whisper in his ear and take hold of his heart. He may be a hard man, but considering what you’ve done I am certain you can subdue the dragon.” Cersei smiled too much. It always made Myrcella uncomfortable when she did.

“To what end?” Myrcella asked.

Cersei’s eyes squinted, and she looked away. “You’re the only Queen, my love,” Cersei replied.

And so Myrcella was instructed to find her way even deeper in Jon’s favor. Kissing the man who would never be seen as weak in the public was not good enough.

Jon picked her up a bit, making her resettle her bottom directly on his groin. She could feel something poking her. Jon kissed her, and his hands went up and captured her cheeks. For a moment, only their tongues touched. He was so much bigger than her, but didn’t control her too much. Even if she sometimes wanted him to.

Myrcella moaned and touched his light beard, enjoying its roughness against her cheeks. Everything about him seemed hard, rough, big, but then she stopped and looked at him. He looked deeply into her eyes, his eyes full of worry. He probably thought he upset her. Seeing him like this reminded her he was just a boy.

“Mercy,” he said, his voice low.

“Puppy,” Myrcella replied, her voice full of mirth, reminding him she was happy at what she was doing.

Jon smirked at his nickname. She couldn’t help it if he was a perfectly cuddly puppy.

“I must attend the throne,” Jon said, “My cousin is to arrive in a few days, and already parties of Blackwoods and Brackens have arrived.”

Myrcella had heard of Jon’s actions as of late. It was impossible not to have heard. He was forcing every Blackwood and Bracken, bastard and all to attend King’s Landing where the King intended the conflict once and for all. She could only imagine what he had in mind.

Jon, as king, worried her. He was undoubtedly intelligent and strong, was not cruel or abused his power. However, Jon was more than willing to punish lords. As her mother taught her, lords were less likely to be punished by kings, for they had power. Lords could rape maidens and kill their husbands, and never see justice, because they had power. The fact that Jon seemed to disregard that entirely was utterly shocking to her.

He had already upset Hoster Tully by directly dealing with the Blackwood problem without even consulting him, as the Lord Paramount. Jon had also circumvented Lady Whent. After her last living son died, all of Harrenhal went to her, an old woman as the last of her House. Then, without anyone expecting it, Jon legitimized a bastard by the Whent’s servant, some girl named Pia, that had apparently birthed a boy by one of Whent’s son. To say that the old woman was happy that a bastard baby had taken lordship from her, or whether she was happy that her line would continue, one could not be certain. But Jon did it without a request. Myrcella was there when Daenerys told him the story, and Jon without a second thought decided the make the bastard true.

“I understand, Your Grace,” Myrcella replied, sadly.

For that, Jon kissed her neck and made her laugh. He held her and tickled her with his beard.

“I shall come for you afterward,” he said, and it made her heart soar with joy.

She remembered her mother’s request, that she manipulate him, make him love her more than his mother. She knew it would be politically expedient, but Jon was too kind to her. She only wanted to be kind to him.

Then she melted into his kiss, as if tongue went across her neck. He could make her feel like she was a stupid girl sometimes, but in times like these he made her feel like a loved woman. She would never be Naerys nor Rhaella, dealing with an evil husband, but instead Black Betha or even her grandmother. Myrcella chuckled. Given how Jon acted around everyone else, she would probably be Joanna. She was special.

Myrcella purred into his kiss, enjoying how his calloused hands started gripping her face and holding her down. Without thinking she turned in his lap, putting one leg on each side of his torso, and she started grinding against him.

Jon quickly grabbed her petite bottom and squeezed it, making Myrcella groan. Jon growled into her neck, making Myrcella grind against him faster. Only when her hands reached down and touched his groin did he stop. So Myrcella stopped as well, nervous.

Jon looked up at her, with genuine pain in his eyes. Jon let go of her and leaned back, sighing.

“It’s ok, Jon,” Myrcella finally said, leaning her head against his chest, “Anything you want, you may have. I know how we both feel about each other. I know what I feel against me when we sleep in the same bed. I know how you react when I sound a little too willing. I know what you want.” She looked up into his eyes. “I want it too.”

Jon held her back. “I know,” Jon said, “And I’ve also given up whatever fantasies of waiting to the wedding I had. Now that it’s postponed, I am ever more frustrated. But you, you’re…”

“I’m not a little girl, Jon,” Myrcella said, then she smiled, “Unless you want me to be.” She flashed him a seductive smile.

“Not what I meant,” Jon replied, chuckling lowly, “You’re just so… forgive me if I say it, delicate. I’ve seen delicate ruined before.”

Hardhome, she remembered. It was during a meeting with Daenerys, one that she set up, to learn more about Jon, that she learned the meaning.

“Slavers had arrived to capture wildlings,” Daenerys said, her voice ever hollow, like her focus was elsewhere, “Jon and Robb were sent to end them and free whatever slaves they could. My nephew rarely speaks of it, but I’ve gathered a wealth of information, and put together some theories. He had to march through horror upon horror of wilding rituals, killings, wife-stealers, as they call them, only to find the most terrible act occurring with foreigners. Jon and the Manderlys forced their ships to Hardhome, a wildling port, believe it or not, and killed them. Inside, Jon saw emaciated young girls, chained to beds, beaten, having seen the worst the gods could fabricate.”

“That’s awful,” Myrcella had replied. It was no wonder why Jon was so quick about his need for justice.

“Aye,” Daenerys said, and then she looked across the room, “The rest is a simple rumor. In which-“ Daenerys sighed, for the first time unwilling to say something. “One of the girls offered herself to him, to thank him. The one with him said that Jon was so horrified that he didn’t speak for the rest of the day. The girl was nine, and blond.”

Myrcella’s heart was crushed. Jon did not want to be reminded of the horror he had seen. Myrcella felt guilty, for having made him feel so terrible.

“Jon,” Myrcella said, trying to forget Hardhome, “I’m not going to be hurt. I am fully aware of what I ask, and I trust you to be slow.” Jon flashed her a little boyish smile. She kissed him. “Besides, I grow tired of flashing you my smallclothes to no avail.”

Jon chuckled louder. Of all her mother’s teachings, of how to ensnare and keep a man, the only one that was so ridiculous it made both of them laugh was when Myrcella deliberately sat so Jon could look up her dress, or wore short sleep wear just to let him see within her legs. He liked it, she knew. It was playful, and naughty, and utterly ridiculous.

“Then I shall have to grow more open to it,” Jon finally said, before attempting to move her off, “Now I must leave.”

“Wait,” Myrcella said, “Just allow me one thing.”

Jon looked at her curiously. Then Myrcella leaned back, allowing her dress to hike up and reveal her light blue smallclothes. Jon looked down, and saw that there was a wet spot. Myrcella showed him, and touched the spot with her hand.

“This is my womanhood,” she said, “I want you to touch it.” Jon looked like he was about to say no, until she silenced him. “For me.”

Jon then reached down, and as he did he eyes went to hers. With her left hand she held his face, and as he touched her clothed core, with her other hand she pulled down her smallclothes, and pulled Jon’s hand in to touch her sex. Myrcella gasped but enjoyed the feeling of a man’s touch. His fingers were so big. Jon, though surprised, didn’t stop, and quickly found her vagina, and her special little spot. His fingers were getting wetter.

“I don’t only worry about hurting you,” Jon said, “I worry that once I have you I will never want to stop taking you.”

Myrcella leaned into his fingers. Everything was overwhelming, lovingly, beautifully, perfectly overwhelming.

“Your fingers are so large,” she said, “but I think they can fit.”

Jon attempted to reach up into her womanhood, and quickly Myrcella removed her hand and stood up, smoothing her dress and pretending it did not happen. She looked down at Jon and saw his surprised and upset. Myrcella smirked.

“I believe you have some duties to attend to, my king,” she said, smiling, “I’ll be ready when you are.”

Jon smiled back at her, and it made Myrcella so happy. She got him, and he admitted it. Now that she was proud of. Jon grabbed her slim shoulders and roughly pulled her to him. He kissed her deeply, and then grabbed her hand and put it to his manhood. It was…

“Fuck,” Myrcella said as Jon pulled her hand away.

“I would watch your tongue, my lady,” Jon said, “your elders may be offended.”

He leaned down as kissed her cheek, and walked outside of his solar, leaving to the throne. Before he left through the door, Myrcella called out to him.

“You’re right, my king,” she said in an intentionally over-girly voice, “I am just a little girl.”

Her hand was under her smallclothes, making Jon look at her touch herself. Jon simply walked out but she heard him say “gods” as he left.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Myrcella removed her hand and laid down on the couch. Her faced turned red and she tried not to groan at how stupid what she did was.

_If aunt Genna was here she would say I was such a slut._

**Jon**

Jon cut off the right hand of the thief. He was originally going to remove three fingers, but after hearing protests and pleas from the thief, he decided to make an example of him.

His knife cut swiftly and the thief, some man in his twenties with a breath smelling of arbor wine, screamed until a maester wrapped his hand and a Kingsguard covered the man’s mouth. They took him away, as the thief continuing screaming into the guard’s hand.

Jon walked back to the Iron Throne, to sit the accursed chair and hear from the worst little weasel in the realm.

“Forgive me, Lord Frey,” Jon said, looking down at the old, old man, “I had duties to attend to. Against those who cheat the crown.”

Jon ordinarily did not deal with common criminals, but had specifically requested a petty thief in to show Walder that he would not accept liars in his court. Ordinarily, old Walder did not leave the Twins at all, most likely due to his age, but Jon required it of him, and his elder son Stevron, himself a man in his sixties attended with him.

Walder’s eyes went to his son. It was clear that the old man did not have the stones to deal with the Jon after what he had just seen.

“It is alright, Your Grace,” Stevron said, his voice polite and reserved, “We may continue the matter.”

“Aye,” Jon replied, “Your other sons have become hostile toward you, seeing not only that you have not provided them wives and households, but tried to put a babe before them, allegedly the bastard of my brother. Black Walder is suggesting the child isn’t his.”

When Jon suggested bringing the old men to the Keep, his council advised against it. Few in the realm would believe that Roslyn Frey had Aegon’s bastard, and to bring Walder to court just to deny him would simply be seen as an unnecessary insult.

“The dumb fool can’t take that there’s king’s blood in our family now,” Walder said, in his terrible old voice. “The child is Aegon’s. He was hosted at our home and found my daughter. The fool should be glad he’s as close to lordship as he is.”

Jon looked down at the old man, upset that he even had to deal with him.

“My brother’s sons,” Stevron said, “They are simply upset at how far back they have been moved in the line of succession. Ryman and Walton have-”

Jon usually liked to find out as much as he could about a lord before having them at court. But Walder’s line was so vast and disgustingly complicated that he simply gave up trying to comprehend it all.

“Stop,” Jon said, “I care not for your family line. What I see before me, my lord,” looking down disdainfully at Walder, “is a lecherous fool who’s conducted himself in the grossest fashion, producing dozens of sons to the point that civil war in your family is inevitable.”

Walder looked shocked at what the king was saying. In front of everyone, Jon was insulting Frey to his core, and all his spawn.

“My place is not to judge the personal actions of my vassals,” Jon said, “But before me I see someone unworthy of the title. You’re not Aegon the Unworthy or Ronard Storm, yet you have pretended to be them and outdo them.”

Walder was enraged, but his cowardice and old age made him so, so small. He could do nothing. Stevron saw how upset his father was.

“I came to see my great-grandchild legitimized, as the blood of the dragon,” Walder said angrily, “Not to be insulted.”

“You came because your progeniture are threatening war on you,” Jon replied, “So what do you want, Lord Frey? Would you hear me or not?”

Walder shook. “I would hear what the king offers,” he said, “Knowing that his nephew lives suckling at my granddaughter’s breast, knowing that she has been well provided for, as have all my children and theirs, bastards and the like, knowing that this “lecherous old man” has always protected his family even if they were too great in number!”

Jon sat back, weighing his words. Walder was a stupid man for having so many children. The realm would have to deal with his actions for a generation or two. The kingsguard, from Jaime Lannister to Barristan, and the other lesser lords looked around, waiting for the king to speak. It was not wise for a king to insult his vassals, nor threaten them. Mayhaps Jon was too harsh.

He remembered what Myrcella told him when he went to decapitate another man on the block, that as she was taught, rulers had to keep their vassals happy, so they would not rebel. As much of an uninformed girl she was, Jon saw wisdom in it.  

“I will legitimize her bastard,” Jon said.

All the room peaked up in surprise. Whispering was heard around the room, and even the Kingsguard looked at each other strangely. No one could believe that the king was going to recognize a Frey bastard as the blood of the dragon. They certainly did not expect Walder’s story to be true. But Jon knew that for once he was honest.

Stevron knelt, and said “Thank you, Your Grace,” while Walder still remained upset.

“On one condition,” the King said.

Walder must have known that was coming. He simply nodded.

“You give up your right to your Lordship, and the crown will deal with what becomes of your rebellious progeniture,” Jon said seriously.

Walder looked like he was about to yell, when Stevron put his arm on his shoulder, whispering in his ears. At last the old man, still with anger in his eyes, gave up. He agreed and was taken from the room.

After Frey, he had the Tytos Blackwood and Jonos Bracken brought in. Both were older men, though Tytos had some black still left in his beard. Both were strong and experienced in war. They would not be so easy to intimidate as Walder.

They were both beaten, bloody, the result of a long family feud that spanned centuries. Marriages didn’t work, nor treaties, and peace never lasted.

When Jon first decided to end their conflict forever, he thought of removing heads from bodies. That is how he answered Myrcella when she asked what he would do. He did not want to tell her, but she would be his queen, and she would have to know. The look in her eyes, looking down while her curly, soft blonde hair covered her face, hurt. They were in the small council chamber, where Jon had invited her on a little tour.

“I suppose,” she said, “if the crown is to be respected. Harsh measures have worked, I believe. Harrenhal and Castamere are testaments to that.”

“Aye?” Jon said curiously.

“I just,” Myrcella said, “Well.” Then she gained a little more confidence, and looked at him. “Sometimes a king must be harsh. It’s probably what keeps the realm together. But other times, it just might be better to be clever, than cruel.”

Jon had never thought of himself as cruel, but he knew what she meant.

“You’re referring to the chopping blocks,” Jon said simply.

He could see her visibly breathe in hard, like saying it hurt her. “Not just that, this too,” she said, “I like Maekar’s crown on you. But Maekar wasn’t my favorite King.”

Jon moved her hair out of her face, looking at her curiously. “I’ll think over it,” he replied.

So in the throne room, before the heads of feuding families, Jon made his decision.

“Lord Tytos, Lord Jonos,” Jon said, ensuring they could see the spikes in his crown, “I have decided to put an end to your feud.”

“It was the bloody Blackwood!; they cannot be trusted,” Jonos said, defensively.

“I would!” Tytos replied, ready to fight the man.

“Enough,” Jon said, and they looked to him, “I could have your children marry.” They looked appalled at the idea. “I could have their children marry and the next three generations to end your feud. I have considered it. I could strip one or both of you of your castles, for you disobeyed me.”

“Your-“ Tytos tried to say.

“Quiet while I am speaking, My Lord!” Jon raised his voice, bringing all to a dead silence.

“But I have decided to do something else,” Jon said, “Your children will marry into the Frey family.”

Both lords babbled in fear and offense, about how unworthy and humiliating it was, how it would turn their line into a laughingstock. They actually raised their voice, fully knowing how Jon reacted to whiners.

_As anyone would who had to marry a Frey._

“I give you this stipulation, my lords,” Jon said, “You shall keep one or two of your children free to marry who you like. But from now until the end of the realm, if you fight your children shall marry into the Freys, their names erased. If you fight again, all of them shall be Freys, and that would be your legacy. Now leave my sight.”

Both men clearly wanted to say more, but Jon waved them away, careless to their protests.

Of all the matters he had to deal with, this was perhaps the most complicated. The riverlands were about to descend to blood on account of the Freys and the Blackwood-Bracken debacle. It took something other to fix it without Jon bloodying his sword. A part of him told him that Myrcella wouldn’t have liked that.


	8. Chapter 8

_If she wasn’t my aunt, I’d have her removed far long ago._

“And pray tell, what do you hope to gain from legitimizing little Aegon?” Daenerys asked, sitting before Jon in his solar, her legs on the desk.

Her lack of decorum occasionally annoyed him, yet she was family, and his closest confidant. And there was something about her that simply drew respect from him, or maybe it was wariness. In the high morning, barely out of bed, Jon found himself talking with Daenerys about the events of late. They would need to get everything straight before Robb arrived.

However, Dany’s short legs on his desk, shimmering diamond-imitation slippers, with a long yet flowing red dress was becoming a distraction. So Jon reached over and simply pushed her feet off his desk. Dany gave him a bored, half-offended look, but didn’t seem angry. She never really did.

“The boy is Aegon’s bastard,” Jon replied, “And born of a Frey. It would be unjust to let a child grow up without knowing the truth.”

“Don’t tell me you’re growing soft on me nephew,” Daenerys replied.

“I’m not in the mood,” Jon said to her, “If I have made a mistake, tell me.”

Daenerys looked out to the window, noting how bright it was becoming. Dawn had risen.

“I shall ensure it goes smoothly,” she said, “The boy and his mother will need to be moved outside of the Riverlands. With the Velaryons, mayhaps.”

“His cousins,” Jon said, “Then it will be done.”

“I’ve always found it interesting how easily men can have bastards without losing their honor,” Daenerys said, “You do not feel like you’re besmirching your brother’s name?”

Jon thought a moment. “I doubt it,” he said, “Have you concerns?”

“Some might say you’re damaging Aegon’s name to support your own claim,” Dany said.

Jon’s face turned to anger. “Who might say that?” he asked.

Dany smirked. “Worry not; if there are those that say such things, I shall find them.”

“Good, so next topic,” Jon said, wanting to move on, “Why haven’t the Dornish responded to our calls? I’ve known Prince Oberyn since I was a boy, and they were our strongest supporters in the rebellion. Has Prince Doran forgotten the kindnesses I’ve given other disrespectful lords?” Jon looked at her harshly, his eyes still tired.

“They say that Prince Doran has his wife with him again, whispering into his ears,” Daenerys responded.

That wasn’t an answer. Jon leaned in closer.

“What the fuck is going on with Dorne, Dany?” Jon asked.

Daenerys looked back, challengingly, as if to see if he could keep it up.

“When your father gave your hand to Myrcella, he was denying Doran’s request for you to marry Arianne,” she said, “They are deeply, deeply offended. And…”

“And?” Jon repeated, annoyed with her games.

“They see it as you sleeping with the enemy,” she said, “You know the Dornish aren’t the only ones to suspect the Lannisters in the wild fire plot.”

Jon remained silent. They talked about this often.

“Myrcella isn’t to blame,” he finally said, “And we are keeping the rest of the Lannisters from any positions of power. When can I expect a Dornish representative come before me, to speak and continue their relationship with the crown?”

Daenerys looked away from him. “The other Dornish lords will follow the patterns the Martells have been following,” she explained, “I believe we must go to them.”

“And reward them for defying me?” Jon said, insulted at the very thought.

Daenerys actually chuckled. He hadn’t heard that in several weeks. “Nephew, if there is one group that does not fear you it is the Dornish. They took on Balerion, and even with all your fury I doubt you can match his flame.”

Jon wanted to press her, but he considered her words. The Martells were silent, and silence was what came before rebellion. If they didn’t speak to them soon, whatever offences they felt or conflict they dealt with, then he would have to answer for it personally. Yet Jon knew, it wasn’t good to poke at a snake.

“Go to them and tell Doran, his wife and Arianne that I will bring justice to their family who died here. Go to them, or I will, and let them know what happens if I have to come.”

“Kindnesses I am afforded, Your Grace,” Dany said.

_King Jon’s Kindness_. He overheard it from a guard a few days earlier. Apparently, it was a phrase getting around the realm. It seemed that every time Jon gave justice to a criminal or rebellious lord, the phrase was used. It was some sick joke about all the blood that met his blade.

“You are dismissed, Lady Daenerys, be ready to leave in a fortnight and be back in time for the wedding” Jon said, not wanting to continue this. He had to get back to sleep, bathe, address the council. He had to get back to-

“Is Myrcella a good bedmate?” Daenerys said, “I know how unwilling you were to take such a young girl to wife, but now that you’ve found it necessary, do you find it pleasing? Is she so small she cuddles into your chest? Is she so soft that you prefer her to your comforter? Does she feel crushed?”

Jon’s eyes flared. “Are you trying to provoke me?”

“Not in the slightest,” Daenerys said, “I’m doing more to help you, as in all manners. Now that you’ve made the right decision, I simply advise you to do it right. She is the closer to you than any one of us, after all. Far closer than I expected her to be.”

“Your point?” Jon asked.

“I believe her to be kindhearted,” Dany said, more so than any other of her family, “But I also know that since you have decided this, that you ought not to forget your place and your goal. I will be gone and unable to protect you while I am in Dorne. Keep in mind that _everyone_ will use her against you.”

 

 

**Jon**

Jon looked at the mirror. He imagined what Aegon would have looked like, staring at the old Myrish, golden-framed mirror that adorned the King’s Chambers. Then Jon imagined his father looking at the same mirror.

In his youth, Jon would have been upset with the comparisons. He never saw himself as King. His father and brother had the silver hair and purple eyes of the old dragonlords; they were the ones meant to rule. But Jon’s mother told him that he was not only a dragon but a wolf, a descendant of a great line of conquerors and kings. So though he might not be a dragon in his unfortunate reign, Jon would be a wolf.

“Jon,” he heard behind him. “Are you coming back to bed?”

Jon turned and saw the golden-haired angel laying in his bed. Her soft, curly hair was longer and laid on the comforter which covered her body. Her cheeks were lightly blushed and her lips plump and red.

Jon couldn’t help but smile. She was the maiden incarnate. His senses were enraptured and overcome by her being. His touch had to be matched with hers, his smell was filled the scent of her rose perfume and pennyroyal shampoo, his ears had become so attuned to the sound her morning sing-song voice and the drum of her heartbeat at night, his sight was all-consumed by her beauty and pouty lips, and his taste was… he only tasted her.

“You’re staring at me,” Myrcella said, and her smiled turned into a look of serenity, “Are you entranced?” she asked seriously.

Jon couldn’t answer. He simply walked up to her and kissed her. His palms held her cheeks and she pulled the comforter of them both, letting him feel her naked body.

It was only a few days ago where he had taken her. It was late in the afternoon, after Jon had finished early with court. On that day he had seen Myrcella in the Godswood, sitting near the heart tree.

He wondered if she was praying there, if she had given up her gods in favor of his. It was without thought that he ran up to see her. Instead of praying he saw that he had her hands underneath the skirts of her dress.

When he was not four feet from her she moaned a womanly moan, her lips making an oval shape. Jon watched, unable to speak, as her shoulders picked up and down and her moans turned into whines, the expression on her face contorting from beautiful to salacious. He saw her lips turn from a pouty oval shape to a growl of clenched teeth. He saw her truly, the lioness that had so taken his heart and soul.

She recognized him then. Her eyes opened. She stopped moving and looked worried. Without a word, he knelt by her and kissed away any sense of regret or shame in her mind. His hand descended down her own, sending a chill up and down her spine. He touched her and felt her and he looked deep into her eyes. At that level they were at the same height, and they breathe the same gasp of hair, no longer souls lost in a maze of politics, fear and cruelty, but equals and lovers all on their own.

His fingers reached deeper inside her, making her moan a silent moan. She looked at him, her eyes determined, wanting. She felt down his shirts and touched his body, and her hands descended to his groin. He let her. He let her have everything she wanted.

Then fell on the grass and leaves beneath the heart tree, pushing down each other’s clothes. He entered her and howled. She resisted at first, but quickly encouraged him to continue. Soon all they heard were the sounds of each other’s moans and the quiet rumbling of the Godswood, the melodic songs of the birds and creeks of the cicadas.

When they finished, all that was left was the red spot on her dress and the leaves on the ground. When they stood up, the rain started, washing away the evidence of what had occurred.

“Cuddle puppy?” Myrcella said, drawing Jon back into the moment, “Are you entranced?”

There was no question. “Entirely,” he said, removing his clothes and finding his way between her legs.

Robb was arriving today. Jon dressed in his King’s attire, prepared to welcome Robb at the Blackwater, where he had brought Balon Greyjoy to stand trial. On his head was Maekar’s crown, spiky and foreboding, but symmetric and fair. Myrcella was with her mother off somewhere.

At court, Jon decided to walk among his people while a minstrel played _The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown_. Jon met some of the lords of the Crownlands. Lords Celtigar, Sunglass, Stokeworth and Rosby stood around him, speaking about the conditions of the kingdom. Lord Celtigar thanked Jon for getting the Claw Men to give taxes to his house. Lady Stokeworth stood by her husband and continued staring at him angrily while her husband continued chatting up the king. Jon was barely interested though, and instead he struck up a conversation with Lord Guncer Sunglass.

“And will you be able to hold Balon until I arrive with the Kingsguard?” Jon asked.

“Your Grace, Sweetport Sound is honored to be in service to the King, and she is able to hold all manner of criminals, even those as wretched as the worshippers of the dark god,” Lord Guncer said.

Jon nodded and walked away, to see his aunt who was wondering around the main chamber, preparing to depart with a large party. Still in earshot, Jon heard Lord Byrch, Lady Stokeworth’s husband say that Lord Guncer had annoyed the King with his constant talk of the Faith. Lord Guncer responded with insult, saying that while he had sons to take his place Lord Byrch hadn’t a child in ten years of marriage.

At that, Jon saw Lady Stokeworth scoff and walk away.

Jon walked about the court, hearing “Your Grace” and seeing bows wherever he walked. It was annoying. If everyone was acting so outwardly feeble, how could he know what they thought internally? It was all a show, one that really made him hate the crown on his head.

Then he saw Daenerys chatting with knight, a shaggy looking man with dark set eyes. Jon had never seen him before.

“Princess,” Jon said, calling Dany to attention.

She turned and gave an amused look.

“It’s about time you’re not on the throne,” she said. “You do realize that this room is not only for deciding the fates of men.”

Jon didn’t care to respond to that. “Who are you?” Jon asked, turning to Dany’s knight friend.

“Bronn,” the man said, looking up uncertainly, “It’s… pleasant to meet you, Your Grace.”

“He’s a friend of mine,” Dany said, “He’s been lost beyond the wall for the past year and I was happy to see him alive again.”

“The wall?” Jon asked. He remembered being Beyond the Wall with Robb and his mother, and he could still remember the chill of the wind.

“Aye,” Bronn said, still looking somewhat nervous about talking, “I did admit to your aunt though that I came to see you.”

“And why is that?” Jon asked.

Bronn looked at Dany, who only smirked, as if to say _just say it._

“I heard the rumors,” Bronn said, “Wanted to hear if they were true.”

Jon was going to ask what those rumors were, when suddenly the main chamber door opened.

Everyone expected to see Robb stroll in that moment, Balon Greyjoy in chains behind him.

Instead, they saw a different Northerner.

“Jon!” Lyanna said, clothed in chainmail, venom on her tongue, bursting into the room and drawing all the attention. “It’s good to see you, my boy. Now, where’s the Lannister girl. I’d very much like to meet her.”


	9. Chapter 9

_To Tywin Lannister_ ,

Read well, my lord.

When Jon travelled South it was to end the betrothal between he and your granddaughter. King Rhaegar was not in his rights to betroth his son without consulting the Stark family. Yet, tragic and unforeseen circumstances have resulted in his need to remain in King’s Landing. And he remains betrothed.

Why he has decided to keep this decision intact was beyond me. In all other cases, he is acting in his rights. Our new King Jon knew well that he could not be a weak Southron king, so he hasn’t.

You must already know of how well he has commandeered the throne in the right direction. Personally, I believe the death of every king results in a painful and often difficult transition period which marks the new king’s reign. Rhaegar had to take the threats and anger from Dorne and the septons, and his choice of wife led to the most difficult moments of the past several years. Jon, however, is far more apt to start with his reign with force and success.

Traitors and failures in that snake pit of a city are gone. The criminals and torturers at the bottom of the Keep have been punished for torturing innocents. The Clawmen were brought to heel after refusing to pay their taxes. The claimant “King of the Waters” in the Stepstones is being met with dozens of ships to end his false reign. Robb Stark holds Balon Greyjoy in chains, ready to meet the King’s Justice. Even Ser Ilyn Payne was arrested for questioning the King too often.

So know that no matter what your granddaughter has done to him that he will not be seduced to whatever inklings or actions of past kings. My son is not your pawn, no more than my late husband was. Know this and know it well: what I did to keep you away from the Iron Throne before will increase ten-fold, and there is no one that can banish me for it this time. I will be the claw at the lion’s neck once again.

_Lyanna Stark_

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment or I will die (figuratively). I love long comments.


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